Losing Track of Time
by Twilight L Xari
Summary: Wilson can't believe it. House? QUIT? What is going on here?


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, though they are awesome and amazing and I wish I did.

A/N: This is my first House fic, so be kind to me if they get a little out of character. I did my best. And please excuse the fact that it's a bit out of season - I just had the random idea and needed a way to explain it - thus the out-of-season explanation. Enjoy.

* * *

He didn't find out until it was too late.

It was quarter to midnight when Wilson finally left his office. He was in a fairly good mood, having finished almost all of the paperwork that had been piling up on his desk. As he passed House's office, he saw that the light was on. That meant that either House was doing paperwork – the idea was laughable – or that he'd fallen asleep – which was far more likely.

Wilson pushed the door open, not bothering to knock. "House?"

There was a dull thud, and House's head appeared from behind the desk. He stared at Wilson. "Yes?" he asked after a moment.

"What are you doing?" Wilson asked. He took a step closer and looked over the desk. The bottom two drawers were open, files were strewn all over the floor, and a plastic bag was half full of what could only be referred to as miscellaneous crap. "Are you…_cleaning_?"

"No," said House, pulling a stress ball out of the depths of the drawer. "I was looking for that," he muttered. He set it on top of his desk next to his tennis ball, then glanced at Wilson, who was still staring at him, perplexed. "I quit," he said simply.

"You what?" Wilson said loudly.

House stopped and stared at him like he was especially dense. "I quit," he said slowly.

Wilson sat down in the chair in front of the desk, almost in shock. "Why?" he spluttered as soon as his voice returned.

House shrugged. "Moving on to new and better things," he said nonchalantly, returning to his desk drawers.

After a few minutes of silence and staring, Wilson stood up. "Well, good luck then…" he said. Then he turned and headed out.

House watched as he vanished down the hall. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then he went back to cleaning.

* * *

It took Wilson the entire ride home to digest the fact that House _quit_. Yeah, most of the hospital hated him, but he couldn't imagine House leaving because of _that_. He _liked_ pissing people off. If someone _didn't_ hate him, he would go out of his way to make sure they _did_.

By the time he'd gotten home, Wilson had given up on determining why House was quitting. It was his own stupid decision for his own stupid reasons. Wilson could _not_ care less.

But when it got to be one o'clock and he still hadn't gotten to sleep, Wilson was forced to admit that he _did_ care. Whether he liked it or not, House was his only good friend. Yes, he got along with Cuddy, but that was too formal and businesslike to be called a friendship. The rest of the doctors he knew were lumped into the same category. And the nurses he flirted with, … Well, he didn't consider them to be prime friendship material.

House was the one person he could be honest with. He wasn't _always_ honest with him – for good reason – but he could say things to House that he would never _dream_ of saying to anyone else. Even if it was something stupid or strange or just plain sick, he didn't worry about saying it – at least not much. Because he was sure that House had thought something worse at some point in time.

That, and House had brought his tolerance of embarrassment up to a point where almost nothing he could say even made him bat an eye anymore.

There's always Friday nights to get together and watch old movies, Wilson consoled himself. But then he thought, was there any place that would actually _employ_ House within fifty miles?

He didn't think so.

So he'd be gone. For good. Because knowing House, he wouldn't bother to keep in touch.

So Wilson would be all on his own. Great. Exactly what he needed.

On that note he fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning Wilson headed in to work at seven. He'd woken up at five, but he didn't feel like going in obscenely early. He had no convenient patient to give him an excuse for that, and explaining would be a drag.

As he passed House's office, he saw that the tennis ball was still sitting on his desk, next to its new friend, the stress ball. He must not have finished moving his stuff out yet.

He unlocked his office, dropped his briefcase, then sat down. He stared at the files on the corner of his desk, then stood back up. He was going to go talk to Cuddy. Maybe she'd know what was going on.

He heard raised voices before he even reached the door. He stopped, debating whether or not he should leave. Then he heard House's voice above Cuddy's. His debate abruptly ended – he didn't care if he invaded one of their arguments. He knocked.

The voices stopped. "Come in," Cuddy called.

Wilson opened the door and stepped inside. House turned and looked at him. "'Morning!" he said brightly.

"Cuddy," Wilson said, ignoring him, "I wanted to ask – " He stopped himself, distracted by the calendar on the wall above Cuddy's desk.

She crossed her arms. "Yes?" she prompted.

Wilson looked away from the calendar and fixed his glare on House. "You ass, you lied to me!"

House grinned. "No, I _fooled_ you. There's a big difference there."

"Do you mind if I ask what's going on here?" Cuddy asked, looking from one man to the other. "Something I should know about?"

"No," House and Wilson said in unison. Then House burst out laughing. Wilson glared at him, then marched out, slamming the door behind him.

Cuddy stared at House, perplexed. "What did you do?"

House took a deep breath, trying to stop himself from laughing. "I think he forgot that yesterday was April Fool's Day."


End file.
